


Palm to Cheek

by tuesdaycoming



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Crying, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face Slapping, Grinding, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, the zolf/sasha is a whisper on the wind, using someone as a replacement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaycoming/pseuds/tuesdaycoming
Summary: There’s no knock at the door to warn Zolf when Hamid steps in. For all Hamid’s ability to draw an eye, he is deceptively quiet until the click of the door closing and the soft slump of knees against hardwood pulls Zolf from his hunched scribbling. They are letters to no one, easily abandoned when he turns on his stool to find Hamid looking up at him. Zolf notes the hands behind his back, clasped together, the wobble of Hamid’s chin. He is ready to dart away, would in a moment if Zolf got up the nerve to tell him off for this. For coming to him again. And again.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith, Sasha Racket/Zolf Smith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Palm to Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags and take care of yourself. 
> 
> Dubious Consent is tagged because while this is a repeated interaction, the characters don't communicate and this isn't a planned scene.

There’s no knock at the door to warn Zolf when Hamid steps in. For all Hamid’s ability to draw an eye, he is deceptively quiet until the click of the door closing and the soft slump of knees against hardwood pulls Zolf from his hunched scribbling. They are letters to no one, easily abandoned when he turns on his stool to find Hamid looking up at him. Zolf notes the hands behind his back, clasped together, the wobble of Hamid’s chin. He is ready to dart away, would in a moment if Zolf got up the nerve to tell him off for this. For coming to him again. And again. 

“Not very quiet, are you?” He supposes Hamid cannot be blamed for falling short on this when Zolf knows his expectations have been set too high. There is a moment where Hamid’s desire to protest is written plain on his face, but he stays quiet, and Zolf is grateful. Instead of speaking, Hamid shuffles closer to Zolf’s seated form, careful not to touch. “Tell me why you’re here.” Zolf says as Hamid wobbles on stiff knees, unmoored and liable to sway into the space between Zolf’s spread legs if he isn’t careful. 

Hamid sniffs, and that pulls at a part of Zolf’s chest that feels like betrayal. He has long past lost track of which one of them is atoning. Zolf reaches forward, elbows on his knees so his beard hangs, brushing against Hamid’s chin. Hamid is easy to touch. He presses into Zolf’s hand the moment it comes down to card through Hamid’s curls, front to back. Following Zolf’s moment threatens to tip Hamid over, but Zolf feels the slump and catches Hamid by the neck to hold him firm, thumb to jaw and fingers curled around the back of his head, steadying. 

His other hand comes down to cup Hamid’s cheek. For a moment, Zolf’s eyes close and he feels rougher skin beneath his palm, mottled and scared. “Go on. Tell it properly,” he says as he opens them to look into Hamid’s wide eyes. Hamid hesitates, little breaths drawing in sharp like he wants to cry. Zolf draws his hand back and gives him a slap, short and loud against Hamid’s cheek. It would snap his head to the side if he weren’t being held still against the blow. 

Hamid gasps. “I lost Sasha.” 

“Yeah.” Zolf bites the side of his tongue, but still, it spills out of him. “Lost everyone.” When he hits Hamid again it’s twice in quick succession so the breath Hamid inhales after the first is cut off by the second, and he blubbers. 

“Sorry—” Hamid squeezes his eyes shut to force tears out that Zolf knows won’t stop flowing now he’s got them started. “You taught me better. I’m sorry.” 

The hand Zolf is cradling Hamid’s neck with wrenches up, gets a handful of those curls and pulls his head back sharp. Hamid’s legs spread beneath him in a futile attempt to get low enough to rub himself against the floor, still clothed. The pitch of his whimper turns high and reedy, and Zolf sneers. 

“I didn’t even ask you to come in here, did I? Just plopped yourself down and expected to be catered to, greedy slut.” Zolf moves his foot between Hamid’s legs, cold metal sliding into place at a practiced angle. Even through his trousers, Hamid hisses at the coldness of the metal against him, but he takes the offer of something to rub up against for the gift it is. “’S a good thing you’ve got me then, isn’t it. No getting rid of me. Won’t slip through your fingers, will I?” It is a threat and a promise, and Zolf seals it with a slap against Hamid’s cheek where he’s already blooming red and angry. 

“I’ll be,” Hamid hiccups, “better.” 

“You want to be good?” Zolf shakes Hamid’s head by the hair. 

“Yes.” Zolf slides his leg out of reach and Hamid keens. “Please. Let me.” He is held there, teary eyed and snot nosed. It is a crime that he should still look so damned pretty like this. Unbroken and unscathed. It had seemed right, the first time, for Zolf to mark him like this, and he had wanted to. To mold Hamid into something approaching the shape Zolf aches to have under his hands, whip thin and fragile. 

Hamid’s hand comes up to clutch at Zolf’s wrist where he’s cupping his burning cheek, but Zolf lets go and shakes free of him. When he leans back to rest against the edge of his desk, Zolf extends his leg, and Hamid hesitates, body shaking with the effort of denying himself. “Go on then.” Zolf tips his head back, doesn’t look at Hamid so the weight against his leg could be anyone. There are no nerves there, no feedback save the pressure against where metal met flesh, but he hears Hamid’s breathy sob when he brings himself to a peak. “There you go.” Zolf sat forward to catch Hamid by the elbow as he sagged. “Better?” 

Hamid tugs his arm away to fix his hair with careful fingers and prestidigitation. “I’ll ask next time, I—” Hamid swallows hard. “Sorry.” 

“Yeah.” Zolf looks away from him while Hamid puts himself back together. “Me too.”


End file.
